


Graphoerotica

by MalMuses



Series: The Russian 'Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Baker Dean Winchester, Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester, Dom/sub, Domestic Fluff, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, First Dates, Graphoerotica, Kink Negotiation, Less idiocy than usual for these two, M/M, Panties, Praise Kink, Romance, Russian Castiel, Semi-public kink discussion, Timestamp, Writer Castiel (Supernatural), russian language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:01:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22895308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalMuses/pseuds/MalMuses
Summary: Castiel is finally permanently settled in Lawrence with a Green Card in hand, so Dean can relax and focus on much more important matters.Like their relationship, and the fact that after all the months they've spent together...they deserve a real first date.Or, the boys try to have a romantic evening, but just can't help but make it kinky.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, background Gabriel/Kali
Series: The Russian 'Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1580443
Comments: 189
Kudos: 895





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, folks!
> 
> I knew I'd be back to this 'verse soon! Honestly, I thought I'd be back to it sooner...but then I also thought this timestamp would be around three thousand words, so clearly I'm an idiot.
> 
> Now, this timestamp is mostly fluff and kink so that you all get to see a little of Dean and Cas just being, well, Dean and Cas. But, I do have several other timestamps I'm working on already that are a little more on the plotty side. I thought, that as a bit of a tease, I might share the titles here and let you guess what they might be ;)
> 
> The next timestamp you'll see is called "Titled"...some of you were specifically asking for the things in this one, so I hope you enjoy. It'll be with you soon. After that, I have a few more: "Three Men and a Baby", "Gorko, Gorko, Gorko!", and "Temperature Controlled". Can't wait to get them posted!
> 
> Thank you so much for all of your support with this 'verse, and very specific thanks to jscribbles, SOBS, captainhaterade, and EllenOfOz for this particular timestamp. 
> 
> Onward!
> 
> \- Mal <3

_“Medlenno.”_

Dean felt a bead of sweat trickling down the nape of his neck as he sucked in a desperate breath. Biting down on his lower lip, he let out a grunt as he tried to recall the meaning of the Russian word that his Dom had called out.

 _Medlenno, medlenno…Deliberately? Heavily?_ Dean’s thighs shook as he tried to recall.

Sitting at his desk in the window of their townhouse living room, Castiel paused in his typing and turned, raising a brow at Dean. _“Medlenno,_ ” he repeated lowly, his voice spreading out every syllable, offering a small mercy. 

_Slowly!_ Fuck, it meant slowly, in this instance. With a relieved puff of breath, Dean loosened his aching thigh muscles, lowering his pace a few notches and easing himself down onto the dildo between his legs _s-l-o-w-l-y._

_Medlenno._

Dean’s Russian was coming along nicely. But then, Castiel’s methods of teaching were...creative.

 _“Khoroshiy mal'chik,”_ Castiel purred in approval. “You’re doing very well today.”

Dean’s chest thrummed with relief at getting the word right and tingled with pleasure at the praise. _“_ _Spasibo,_ Sir,” he responded gratefully.

Apparently done with the section of his new book outline that he’d been working on that morning, Castiel turned, untucking his legs from beneath the desk. His eyes were dark but unerringly calm as he pushed up from his chair and took the few steps over to where Dean waited, unclothed, his hands held behind his back, the heft of the dildo splitting his cheeks.

 _“Vy khoteli by nagradu?”_ Castiel asked, both hands coming down to hitch up the fabric of his dress pants across his thick thighs, so that he could crouch down to eye level with his weary sub. He reached forward, cupping the side of Dean’s face lovingly as he waited for his answer. 

_Vy khoteli by nagradu_ —Would you like a reward. That sentence was one that Dean had made sure to learn early on, when they’d started doing this. Duolingo was great, and Dean was pretty sure that he wouldn’t have much issue at all if he happened to be a tourist in St Petersburg who had a deep-seated need to find the nearest disco. But for day to day life, Castiel had decided that if Dean was going to put in the time to learn his language, he might as well learn words they would use more often.

 _“You’ll come when I say you can”_ and _“Would you like my tongue in your ass today”_ were phrases that didn’t often appear in his Duolingo daily challenge, but Dean found that the rewards for learning them were much greater than the ones his app gave.

 _“Da,”_ Dean answered Castiel, breathless and beaming. _“Yesli vy dumayete, ya zasluzhivayu odnogo.”_

“Of course I think you deserve one, sweet boy,” Castiel said, rubbing the pad of his thumb softly across Dean’s lower lip. 

Dean’s mouth fell slightly open on a breath, hopeful, and he was rewarded by the gentle dip of Castiel’s thumb within, just resting on his tongue. He tilted his head, wrapping his lips around the tiny offering and sucking on it gently, feeling the ridges of Castiel’s fingerprint trailing softly across his taste buds. 

Castiel watched his finger disappear between Dean’s lips with delighted, wide eyes, his irises almost navy in the dim light of the desk lamp. They closed the blinds, of course, whenever they were going to indulge in a longer scene on Dean’s day off, and the muted light that remained made the space into their own little world.

It had been just over a month since Castiel had almost left Lawrence.

To start with, they’d been...tentative. Taking their time, enjoying being more generous with simple touches, little smiles, just-because kisses. It was as if they were both waiting for it to be weird, for something to change...but nothing really did.

Which just goes to show how very stupid they’d been, Dean said one night as they’d lay in Dean’s—now their—bed, their heartbeats calming from swapped blow jobs. 

It had taken a couple of weeks for Castiel to plan a deliberate scene for them—the first of Dean’s “Russian lessons”, as they had become. They’d played spontaneously, just some mild orgasm denial, some vocal control, some toys...nothing too extreme. But nothing planned, where Castiel went through his whole ritual of clarifying rules and colors and limits. It seemed that they were finally getting into the swing of things now, though, and beginning to work out how to integrate their boyfriend and husband lives with their Dominant and submissive lives.

Dean was enjoying discovering how everything fit together.

Castiel stood smoothly back up, leaving his hand resting on Dean’s face until he’d reached his full height. Slowly tugging his thumb from between Dean’s lips, Castiel smiled down at him, a twinkle to his gaze that Dean always loved.

“Give me the word for belt,” Castiel said.

_“Poyas.”_

“Good boy—go ahead.” 

Dean reached forward, easing his fingers until the clasp of Castiel’s belt and pulling the tail through, leaving it hanging open. Castiel’s eyes were hungry, but his smile was strangely proud as he moved on to his next word.

“Button.”

Dean wracked his brain, but he had it after a moment. _“Pugovitsa.”_

Castiel nodded, pleased, and Dean trailed his fingers longingly across Castiel’s waistband to the button of his slacks. He watched Castiel’s face as he slowly popped it open, cataloging the tiny change in Castiel’s facial features as he grew more aroused; the movement of his tongue behind his teeth, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple, the heaviness of his eyelids as he blinked.

“Zipper.”

 _“Zastezhka-molniya,”_ Dean answered confidently. It was a mouthful, but he was sure.

Castiel’s smile rewarded him, nodding his agreement that Dean could lower his zipper. As he did, Dean could feel Castiel’s length beginning to firm up beneath the fabric, and he looked up from beneath his eyelashes.

“Next, Sir?”

“Pants,” Castiel’s voice rasped lower.

 _“Bryuki.”_ The dildo buried within Dean was still, and he did his best not to shift on it without specific permission, but as Castiel nodded down to him that Dean could lower his pants down to his thighs, Dean couldn’t help but rock his hips slightly, a low gasp falling from his lips.

“Patience,” Castiel cautioned, his hand twisting into the hair at the crown of Dean’s head. “Not long now—you can be good a little longer, can’t you?”

“Yes, Sir,” Dean agreed immediately, freezing, his eyes widening. “I’m sorry, Sir.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” Castiel rumbled. “Just give me the word for underwear.”

 _“Neezhnee bil’yo,”_ Dean breathed out hopefully.

“Excellent,” Castiel praised him. “I’m so proud of you, of how well you’ve been learning...go ahead. Whatever you’d like.”

Dean knew exactly what he’d like. Warmed by Castiel’s generous praise, Dean licked his lips slowly as he tugged Castiel’s boxer-briefs down around his thick thighs, releasing his already half-hard cock. Dean leaned in, nuzzling his nose into the crease of Castiel’s thigh, kissing slowly down the vee of flesh that lead to his heavy balls, breathing in Castiel’s clean, musky scent. “May I, Sir?” he breathed against the thin skin.

Castiel settled himself, letting out a happy humming sound as he stroked Dean’s hair, resettling his hand so that his fingers tangled loosely in his crown. “Whatever you’d like,” Castiel reiterated generously. “Just keep that dildo right there for me, work yourself on it, keep yourself open and ready for me.”

“Yes, Sir.” Dean pressed the words into the patch of dark, dark hair that surrounded the base of Castiel’s cock. He could feel his Dom’s erection growing against his cheek, twitch by twitch as it filled and rose, the smooth skin soft against Dean’s own. 

Dean didn’t rush to it immediately though, taking his time and kissing his way down to where Castiel’s balls hung, warm and tempting between his legs. He kept flicking glances up at Castiel’s face as he dipped forward. Dean trailed his tongue across the pliant flesh of Castiel’s sac before carefully sucking his balls into his mouth, one at a time, warming them and keeping the pressure of his massaging tongue gentle, but constant.

Rewarded by a soft, breathy rumble from above, Dean pulled back enough to let them _pop_ softly out from between his lips, reaching to cup them with his hand instead, the other coming to Castiel’s hip to keep him steady. Dean was cautious, giving the sensitive area the care it deserved, but he’d learned that Castiel loved to have his balls played with during sex; he loved it when Dean sucked on them, or delicately tugged them away from his body while working his shaft, or tenderly squeezed at them while swallowing him down. He was sensitive in that way, and more than anything, Dean loved to watch Castiel fall apart beneath his stoic veneer.

Rolling Castiel’s balls slowly in his hand, Dean began to kiss his way up Castiel’s shaft. 

Letting out a low, pleased noise, Castiel continued petting gently at Dean’s hair, offering him no guidance, letting him do as he wanted—and enjoying every second of it, it seemed. He closed his eyes for a moment as Dean licked and kissed his way around the soft foreskin at the head of his cock, a low rumble building in his chest as Dean loosened the hand he held at Castiel’s hip. He trailed his fingers across Castiel’s hipbone, admiring the sharp jut of it, before bringing them around to stroke slowly down his length, exposing Castiel’s flushed tip before dipping forward to rest it on his tongue. 

Dean admired the long column of Castiel’s neck as his head dipped back, momentarily overwhelmed as Dean slowly took him deep into his throat. 

He didn’t stay like that for long though, bringing his gaze back down after mere seconds so that he could watch while Dean swallowed him down.

Around Castiel’s cock, Dean smiled with his eyes. He knew Castiel loved to watch this; loved to see Dean’s lips stretched out, flushed pink around Castiel’s thick, hefty cock. If Dean was to go about comparing them both, it was possible that his cock was slightly longer—but Castiel was weighty, beautifully smooth and thick. Made for fucking, Dean always thought. He drove Dean wild.

Relaxing his throat and burying his nose in the black patch of wiry hair that surrounded Castiel’s base, Dean hummed and swallowed.

Castiel let out a low Russian curse, his fingers tightening on Dean’s crown. Dean couldn’t help but be delighted by it; Castiel rarely cursed in English, let alone in Russian. Dean always considered it a sign of a job well done.

Dean put in the work. He was strung out, his body tight and desperate after fucking himself on the suction cup dildo over and over while Castiel worked on his outline and tested Dean’s Russian phrases. He’d found the toy amongst Dean’s little collection, and Dean could tell by his dark-eyed, pleased reaction that it would make plenty of appearances in their sex life; especially when he told Castiel that it was the same one he’d fucked himself on in the bathroom while Castiel had stood outside the door. 

Luckily for Dean, Castiel seemed cognizant of the fact that Dean had been on edge for a long time, and he wasn’t holding back. Heavy pants and groaning puffs of air tumbled from Castiel’s lips as Dean worked his shaft with his hands, concentrating his tongue on the underside of Castiel’s head and sucking hard.

“ _Oh,”_ Castiel let out above him, as much sound as word. “ _Da,_ so good...so good for me.”

Dean carried on wickedly working his tongue, gazing up at Castiel, sliding one hand across to squeeze his hip in acknowledgement of his words.

“Tell me what you want,” Castiel rasped. “How would you like to come, _moj mal’chik?”_

Dean couldn’t help but groan around Castiel’s hot dick at the question, drawing another moan from above and earning him a sharp tug to his hair. Pulling off and sucking in a deep breath, Dean wracked his brain—he knew exactly what he wanted, and he’d used the phrase before, if he could just recall it… He knew Castiel wouldn’t be mad if he answered in English, Castiel was never mad at him. But Dean wanted so badly to please him.

Castiel looked down at Dean, his chest heaving beneath his white dress shirt, his mouth open and parted. Dean bit his lip, smiling as he lined up the words in his mind, making sure he had them exactly right.

 _“_ _Ya khochu, chtoby ty byl vnutri menya.”_

Already flushed around his neck and with sweat beginning to gather lightly around his hairline, even more heat seemed to flash through Castiel’s eyes at Dean’s words. He let out a pleased groan, and without any hesitation, pulled back and gripped Dean’s shoulder, hauling him to his feet. Dean barely had time to clench his muscles, but with a resounding _pop_ , the suction-cup of the dildo gave up, and the toy went with Dean.

“Over the couch,” Castiel growled.

Dean was complying even before the words were out, bending over forward to grab fistfuls of the back of the couch, looking back over his shoulder and giving Castiel a grin as he wiggled his ass enticingly, dildo and all.

Castiel’s hands were instantly heavy at Dean’s hips, his fingers gripping tightly into his skin as they curved over his pelvis. Once he had Dean positioned where he wanted, Dean felt Castiel’s fingers curl around the base of the dildo in his ass, tugging at it roughly, moving it in small circles, teasing.

“So beautiful, and so sexy…” He tugged harder at the toy, making Dean grunt as he slid it out sharply. “...and all mine,” he added, his voice flowing, hot syrup.

“Fuck yes,” Dean panted out in agreement as Castiel threw the toy aside. It bounced off the couch and rolled down to the floor, but Dean didn’t care. It’d be his job to clean it later, anyway. “All yours, Sir.”

Castiel wasted no time, wrapping his hand around his own cock behind Dean. Dean dipped his head forward, resting the crown of his head against the pillows at the back, feeling Castiel’s movements behind him as he jacked himself quickly. The tip of Castiel’s cock teased at the edge of Dean’s stretched, tingling hole, and Dean bit down on his lip. 

Seconds later, Castiel lined up and pushed in, guiding his cock with one hand.

 _Ya khochu, chtoby ty byl vnutri menya—_ I want you inside me.

The dildo had been good, but even so, Castiel’s warm, thick cock stretched Dean still further as he slammed in.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Dean let out, before devolving into a whine as his head snapped back up, his spine arching. Fuck, he was going to feel that for the rest of the day. And the next.

Clearly knowing that neither of them had much time, Castiel didn’t prolong it. His hips punched forward at a furious tempo, his thighs pushing them both toward a rousing crescendo. 

“Come on my cock,” Castiel commanded, his accent curling around the words and making them just another form of arousal, for Dean.

Russian had sounded like a mess of consonants shaken with rocks when Dean had first heard Castiel speak it. Now, he was so familiar with his Dom’s low, commanding tones that he heard the underlying, beautiful melody that formed the language, and it was even more erotic than ever.

Castiel pounded his way toward climax, never slowing, punching sharp “Ahhh!” sounds from Dean with each thrust.

With his core tightening, pressure low in his pelvis that he could no longer ignore, Dean squeezed his eyes shut and cried out desperately, a formless sound.

His body stuttered as he came untouched all over the couch.

“Oh, that’s it, yes,” Castiel panted out behind him. “That’s my good boy...you’re so hot, fuck, I want—”

Before Castiel could ask for what he wanted—because Dean knew, even though it was something his gentle Dom rarely asked for—Dean pushed back against Castiel one last time, before jerking forward off his cock. He turned quickly on the couch, arranging his legs either side of Castiel as he sat down and tugged Castiel’s hips toward him.

Biting on his own lip, Castiel steadied himself on the back of the couch with one arm, the other immediately moving straight to his cock, still gleaming with lube and slick from Dean’s ass. His fist tightened and flew, one knee coming up onto the cushions.

Dean looked up at Castiel as his own heartbeat began to slowly settle, his cock still half-hard between his legs, as he wrapped his fingers in the front of Castiel’s shirt. “Please, Sir. Go ahead—make me yours.”

Castiel’s eyes widened in pleasure, panting with delight as Dean continued his low, filthy encouragement.

“Cover me with your come. Mark me with it, hot and sticky and _yours,_ and—”

With a gasping cry, Castiel’s hips stuttered as his wrist continued his frantic movement. Warm, creamy threads of his come spurted out, hitting Dean’s chest, his chin, his cheek.

As Castiel moaned throatily above, Dean grinned lazily at him, letting his tongue rest on his bottom lip. 

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Castiel let out, the arm supporting him on the couch shaking beside Dean’s head.

Dean could feel Castiel’s come dripping down his throat to his collarbone.

Castiel slumped forward then, letting go of the couch as Dean’s hands came up to pull Castiel into his lap, entwining their lips, come and all.

“Love you, Cas,” Dean whispered suddenly, warm and fuzzy and overwhelmed.

Castiel nuzzled into his neck, kissing his way across the wet trail of ownership that Dean could feel beginning to grow tacky on his skin. “Love you too, Dean,” he said, and Dean could feel his goofy smile against his throat.

They sat for a few minutes, trading slow kisses and content smiles, before Castiel eased himself off Dean’s lap. Tucking himself back into his pants, Castiel tidied up his clothes and moved over to the desk, pulling out the basket of aftercare supplies that he’d started keeping beneath it.

Dean smirked. His Dom was like a fucking boy scout. A really kinky, much older boy scout.

“What are you smirking at?” Castiel asked, moving back to sit beside Dean on the couch. 

“Just amused by how well prepared you are,” Dean admitted. 

Castiel took out a package of baby wipes and swiftly wiped up his dried come from Dean's skin, before pulling clean underwear from the basket for Dean, then wrapping him in his arms, tugging him across the couch and into Castiel's lap.

Dean went willingly. Curled into Castiel's chest shamelessly, Dean let himself be held while Castiel used his other arm to grab a chocolate bar and water bottle from the basket, then wrap them both in the soft throw blanket from the back of the couch.

Pressing his lips to Dean's temple, Castiel smiled. “I try to be prepared for anything you might need from me, Dean. That's part of my role, too—an important part.”

Dean obediently drank down half of the water bottle before putting the cap back on. Once he was done, Castiel was waiting, a square of chocolate poised between his first finger and thumb, ready to slip between Dean’s lips. Smiling against it, let out a little huff of amusement before sliding out his tongue to catch the treat. 

“Is there anything you aren’t good at?” he asked, half joking as the fancy chocolate melted in the warmth of his mouth, but half not.

Castiel smiled indulgently. “Many things.”

“Oh, really?” Dean grinned, disbelieving, snuggling further against Castiel and nudging the arm he held the chocolate bar in with his knee. He opened his mouth hopefully.

Laughing at him, Castiel shook his head and snapped off another piece. “You are so spoiled,” he teased, before slipping the square onto Dean’s tongue.

Dean merely fluttered his eyelashes dramatically. He was being silly about it, but Castiel really _did_ spoil him. It was something that outside of these walls, with other people—Hell, even with Castiel outside of _this_ —Dean struggled to reconcile, sometimes. He had always been the one to provide, to work, to look after people. He looked after everyone he knew, in his way.

But Castiel said that was why Dean needed these moments, deep down, and Dean was rather inclined to believe him. 

“Baking,” Castiel said firmly, apropos of nothing.

Dean raised an eyebrow in question.

“You asked if there was something I wasn’t good at. If you think my cooking is poor, my baking would make you pack up and leave me, instantly, Mister Baker. I can destroy a kitchen, without exaggeration.”

Grinning, Dean nuzzled in further, pressing his nose up under Castiel’s chin. “I think it would take a lot more than a destroyed kitchen to make me give up on us after it took us so long to get here. Though, if it was the kitchen of Trick or Sweet, I’d think about it.”

Castiel huffed out a laugh. “Good to know.”

“Gabriel did that once, almost,” Dean said. “He tell you about that?”

Castiel pulled back so that he could look down at Dean, blinking incredulously. “No!”

“Well, it was before you lived here. I guess he wouldn’t air out his shame on family phone calls. It was way back when we first opened—he got distracted flirting with a pretty girl over the counter, and forgot he had things on the heat in the kitchen. Almost burned the whole store—lucky we had good insurance.”

“And you still trust him to work alone on your days off?”

“Yeah, I forgave him. He’s gotten better, over the years. A bit less scatterbrained, a bit less selfish, fewer pranks. And the girl he was flirting with turned out to be Kali, so I guess it was meant to be.”

They’d settled for a few seconds more, another square of chocolate making its way between Dean’s lips, before Castiel spoke up again.

“I’m terrible at anything remotely fashion related. I own one coat, and it takes me half an hour before a meeting or a date to even get my hair to sit flat.”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh. “I definitely couldn’t care less about that one. Your flasher coat has grown on me over the months, and I like your hair exactly like this”—He reached up, dragging his fingers through Castiel’s thick, voluminous strands,—“all just-got-fucked and sexy. I’m sure I’d have liked it like that on a date, too.”

“You would, hmm?” Castiel asked, grinning. 

“In theory,” Dean said, chuckling as he shrugged. “We never exactly dated, unless you count us fake-dating with Charlie and Gilda or having dinner at the Roadhouse as husbands-who-weren’t.”

Castiel frowned, his hand stilling as he moved to break the last of the chocolate in half for Dean. “That isn’t right at all.”

“Uh, I think it is, actually, we never—”

“No, I mean…” Castiel shook his head, reaching over to feed Dean once more with a brief, distracted smile. “That’s not _right,_ that we never shared those experiences.”

Dean shrugged one shoulder, causing the throw blanket to slip down slowly over his bare skin. “It doesn’t matter, we still got here.”

“That’s true,” Castiel agreed, reaching out to tug the blanket back up over Dean. “But it does matter, to me. You deserve the best. And even couples who are committed to each other still date.”

“This you asking me on a date, Cas?” Dean grinned.

“Yes,” Castiel said decisively. “I would like to take you on a date, Dean, if you’ll have me.”

“Dork,” Dean muttered fondly before nodding. “Of course. I would love to go on a date with you, Cas. Pull out all the stops, romance me. If it goes really, really well”—Dean walked his fingers up the side of Castiel’s face, before turning his jaw gently so that he could grin at him and press a kiss to his lips—“you might even get lucky at the end.”

“Surely you don’t put out on the first date, Dean,” Castiel said in mock horror, pressing their foreheads together.

Dean grinned wolfishly. “I feel like this time might be the exception.”

***

Dean didn’t really date much, as such. He’d been set up by a few friends over the years, but mostly his relationships began as one-night stands that turned into a few more nights, until suddenly he knew their childhood pets’ names and their parents were including him in Sunday lunch. Or, y’know, he just married them straight out of the gate. That too.

So, once Castiel had brought up the idea of them going on a date, he was pretty pleased. Things were different with Castiel than they’d ever been with anyone else, for Dean—this didn’t feel like a casual thing, it never had, even when it hadn’t _been_ a thing. Dean was in love with Castiel, no doubt about that, and they had the kind of thing going on where Dean already couldn’t picture his life without Castiel in it. So, the idea of getting a chance to have a real, true first date with the man he was already committed to...that was kind of cool, he decided. He was excited.

He’d jokingly told Castiel to romance him, but he honestly had no idea what Castiel would do.

So...he waited.

And waited.

And eventually, several weeks later, he decided to mention it.

“Hey, whatever happened to us going on that date, huh?” Dean said around a mouthful of pizza, knocking his foot into Castiel’s on the coffee table where they both sprawled in front of the TV, watching an old spaghetti western. Dean had been at work for twelve hours and Castiel had started the first scene of his new novel, hated it, scrapped it, and rewritten it several more times—they’d needed some TV that was easy on the mind. Plus, cowboys were hot. 

Castiel’s eyes flicked to Dean before moving down to his beer bottle. Dean watched as he slowly picked at the label. “I’ve been thinking about it,” he said.

“Oh?” Dean asked, shuffling his weight on the couch so that he turned to face Castiel a little. “I was just wondering, that’s all. I gotta admit I was...kinda looking forward to it, honestly.”

Castiel sighed, peeling a long strip of paper from the bottle. “I suppose when we talked about things I wasn’t good at, I should have said dating.”

Dean’s eyebrow ticked up his forehead as he reached forward to cover Castiel’s hand on the beer bottle. “I find that very hard to believe, Cas. You dote on people, all the time. And don’t do that, I’m the one who’ll have to clean it up.”

“I cleaned on Monday.”

“No, you did your stupid Dom brow thing at me until I felt compelled to pick everything up off the floor, then you flicked the vacuum around for five minutes. Now, stop dodging me.”

“I’m not, really,” Castiel said, though he let out a defeated sigh. “I suppose I am. It turns out that the prospect of taking you on a first date, when I already know how much you mean to me, is incredibly nerve-wracking.”

Dean blinked a little, his mouth falling open involuntarily for a second before he incredulously replied, “You’re scared of dating me?”

“No! Well, yes. I mean, not you. I just—”

“Hey,” Dean said soothingly, understanding snapping into his mind instantly, like the last piece in a Lego diorama. “You’re putting way too much pressure on yourself, Cas. You want it to be perfect because it’s our first date, and you already know that we’re together, that we’ll look back on it. Right?”

 _“Da.”_ Curls of shredded paper were hitting the floor again.

Dean wrestled the beer bottle from Castiel’s fingers. “Hey,” he said.

Castiel didn’t look up.

So, Dean took matters into his own hands. Placing the beer bottle on the table next to his own, Dean shoved the pizza aside and swung his leg over without preamble, straddling Castiel’s lap. Reaching down, he scooped Castiel’s jaw into both of his hands and, before Castiel could even look surprised, leaned in to kiss him soundly.

Castiel made a small noise of astonishment, but certainly no noises of protest.

“You’re adorable,” Dean said when he was done, pulling back to smile down at him.

“I’ve told you before that I am too old to be—”

“And you’re still wrong.”

With a fond, exasperated look, Castiel shook his head. “If it pleases you. And I’m sorry, Dean. I know you were looking forward to the date, I never intended to disappoint you. I was just...worrying too much, I suppose. You’re right.”

“Cas, our first date will be perfect. Because it’s me and you, okay? I’m already in love with you, so you’re about ten steps and five bases ahead of most dudes when they set out to romance somebody.”

Castiel opened his mouth to respond, before a thoughtful look overtook him and his head tilted to the side, still in Dean’s hands. “Are you sure there even are five bases?”

“Oh, shut up,” Dean grumbled, tempted to grab a pillow from the other end of the couch and whack him with it. “Tell you what...our first date. Tomorrow evening. We’ll go get dinner at that nice Italian place down by Sam’s office, then go for a walk in the park to work off the extra parmesan. Can’t get much easier and more romance-y than that.”

“I believe the word is ‘romantic’.”

“You’re the writer, dude. I’m just the guy who’s trying to get his husband to agree to date him, so he can try for fifth base.” 

With a chuckle, Castiel surged up off the couch, wrapping Dean in his arms where he straddled his lap, smiling as he kissed him softly on the tip of his nose. “You have a deal then, _lyubimy._ Our first date, tomorrow. I’ll pick you up after work, as a good date should.”

“In _my_ car,” Dean pointed out.

“Oh hush,” Castiel grumbled. “Just take a change of clothes to work with you and prepare for some shameless romancing.”

Dean gave out a little snort at that. “Oh, really? Gonna pull out all the stops, huh?”

“Of course!” Castiel grinned. “I have a hunch I might want a second date, so I better do things right.”

Chuckling, Dean snuggled back in next to his dork of a boyfriend and they returned to watching their cheesy western, content.


	2. Part Two

Trick or Sweet was relatively quiet, but Dean had still been pretty busy as he’d been on his own most of the morning while Gabriel attended a doctor’s appointment with Kali for her ten-week ultrasound. He’d come back bouncing off the walls, declaring that she was going to give birth to the most attractive kidney bean in the world.

Dean was so fucking happy for his friend. He couldn’t even be annoyed at how little work Gabriel did for the rest of the day. Instead of cleaning out the walk-in fridge, he spent his time looking up increasingly ridiculous baby shower cakes on Instagram and asking Dean if he thought he could make them.

“Gabriel, you are one of my best friends, and I will make you whatever giant, fugly, pastel colored monstrosity—except that one, Jesus Christ that is a doll escaping a cake _vagina_ , I have a business reputation to maintain—but maybe let’s chill on the baby shower planning and get the floor swept? I won’t be happy if I’m late for our first date.” 

Gabriel pouted at Dean’s assessment of his hideous lady-parts cake, but nonetheless dragged his feet across the room to get the broom before Dean’s words seemed to register. “Wait—first date?”

“Yeah?”

“With who?” Gabriel squinted suspiciously; his frown dangerous as his chest puffed out. 

It took Dean a moment to track Gabriel’s train of thought, but once he got there, he laughed. “Dude, relax. I’m not cheating on your brother. I’m dating your brother, dumbass.”

Gabriel was pintsized, but he was a scrappy little fucker. _Like a chihuahua,_ Dean thought.

“Oh,” Gabriel replied much more easily, his shoulders relaxing. “I figured you two were like old folks already, just saying good morning over the paper and lying in bed like cold fish in shrink wrap every night, already being married and all. Didn’t know dating factored into it.”

“Dude, sometimes I wonder what’s wrong with you.”

Gabriel smiled like it was a compliment, beginning to swish the brush around. “First date, though?” he asked. “How’s that work?”

Dean shrugged. “We never really had a date, not one that we meant or knew at the time was a real date, you know? It was always fake.”

“Makes sense. So, are you doing something really over the top, romantic and such?”

Thinking of the fun he was very much hoping to entice Castiel into afterward, Dean gave a slow smirk. “Something like that.”

“Do I wanna know?”

“Probably not,” Dean said, spraying down the front of Gabriel’s chocolate case and beginning to rub the fingerprints from the glass.

“Oh God, is this one of those things? Are you going to some kind of sex club, or dungeon? Does he get to spank you in front of an audience?”

“No, Gabe! It’s just a date, okay. If I’m hoping for more after, you don’t need to know—there’s definitely something wrong with you if you wanna know.”

“I’m not saying I want to be in the audience, God no. But unlike you, I’m not allergic to details.”

“Shut up and switch the damn sign to closed. And I’ll have you know, we are having a perfectly sweet, romantic date.”

“Really? Is everything okay?” Gabriel sounded genuinely concerned. “You’re not, like, on the outs already are you? Did you ask him to do something he wasn’t into? Is there too much spanking, even for you?”

Dean debated throwing the last of the stale croissants at Gabriel’s head, and only held back because he’d have to re-sweep the floor. “I’m going to get changed,” he said instead. “And you can kindly never mention your brother’s spanking habits again.”

“Prude!” Gabriel called after Dean as he rushed out to the back room, hurrying to get changed before Castiel was due to arrive. 

In the tiny bathroom at Trick or Sweet, Dean quickly discarded his floury scrubs into a plastic bag that he’d brought to work specially—Castiel must be rubbing off on him in more than one way, Dean realized with amusement.

While they were just having a simple, romantic date, Dean didn’t see the harm in dressing up enticingly for Castiel, especially as he hoped this first date would end on a high note. Wrangling himself out of his clothes in the miniscule bathroom like a contortionist, (elegant, it was not,) he pulled on a dark gray, silky button up to complement his charcoal slacks, and took a minute deciding whether or not to roll the sleeves up. In the end, he did, tucking the cuffs back behind his elbows to bare his forearms. He quickly brushed his teeth and sprayed on a little of his favorite cologne, before checking his hair in the mirror.

Good enough, he supposed.

Stepping back out into the bakery, Dean was pleased by Gabriel’s approving once over, his honey-whiskey eyes taking in the clothing with a small nod. 

“Very nice, Dean-o. If I didn’t already know far too much about you, I would.”

“Thank you…?” Dean said uncertainly.

“Welcome. Looks like Cas just pulled up out front, by the way, so have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, but if you do, make me your alibi.”

“Goodnight, Gabe,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. “Tell Kali to rest up.”

Dean saw the gleam in Gabriel’s eye, but he was spared whatever horrific comment he was about to get (probably something about pregnancy libido, knowing Gabe) by the bell over the front door tinkling as Dean closed it behind him.

On the sidewalk, he only had to walk a few steps before he spotted Castiel. His feet drew to a halt of their own accord, and Dean couldn’t help but swallow harshly, saliva flooding his mouth at the sight.

Castiel had dressed up, too. He was wearing a pair of beautiful black suit pants, a white shirt with the sleeves pushed up to expose his tanned forearms, and a red tie that seemed to make his blue eyes pop in some vague color-theory way that Dean didn’t quite comprehend. His hair was tousled and free, five o’clock shadow firmly in place, and he had a matching suit jacket thrown back over his shoulder, held by one finger as he casually leaned his opposite hip on Baby.

God, his boyfriend was absolute sex personified. 

Dean felt a happy tingle in his chest at the thought, which still hadn’t stopped feeling new: Castiel was his boyfriend, for real. He could walk up to him right now, and kiss him, and mean it.

So, Dean did just that, noting with some pleasure that Castiel was eyeing Dean’s chosen outfit with just as much enjoyment as Dean had for his. Dean smiled as he stepped up to Castiel, letting his gaze drag deliberately up and down his body. Reaching out, he curled his hand into the side of Castiel’s neck and pulled them close, pressing their lips together sweetly for a long minute before he pulled back just enough to breathe out, “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel grinned back at him. “You look very handsome,” he confessed, dropping the hand that was at his shoulder, jacket still looped over his finger, to rest it at Dean’s hip. “I know we have a date planned, but I’m very tempted to take you straight home and keep you for myself.”

“I could say the same,” Dean agreed, sliding his hand across Castiel’s front to tweak at his tie teasingly. “And at home, I wouldn’t have to worry about beating people off of my gorgeous boyfriend with a stick.”

Castiel’s low chuckle came out close enough to Dean that he could feel it vibrating in his chest. “Flatterer,” he said, before reaching down to open Baby’s door. He stepped back, pulling the door wide and holding it for Dean. “On the other hand, it will be wonderful to get to show you off.”

Dean couldn’t help but snort at the slightly possessive glint in Castiel’s eye. He loved it. Settling into the Impala’s passenger seat, Dean thought briefly that it was odd to not be behind her wheel…but then his thoughts braked sharply and stalled as Castiel slid into the driver’s side. Watching Castiel’s strong, elegant fingers wrap around Baby’s leather-wrapped steering wheel was a wholly erotic experience; Castiel might as well have been curling his hand around Dean’s dick.

Swallowing harshly, Dean jerked his gaze back up to Castiel’s face, finding his eyes resting on Dean with a tiny grin.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

“Yup, uh,” Dean cleared his throat swiftly. “Yeah. Definitely.”

Castiel didn’t immediately pull out onto the road, though. He paused, turning so that he could reach into the back seat. When he came back to face Dean, he was holding a bouquet of flowers, and leaned across to press his lips to Dean’s cheek as he deposited them in his lap. “For you,” he said softly. “I figured we should start this off right.”

Dean blinked down at his lap, and the cellophane wrapped bundle of gorgeous, hand-bound red roses; an even dozen, by Dean’s quick count. For just a second, it felt like Dean’s ribcage constricted around his heart before releasing him again. “Cas…thank you,” he said, his voice coming out huskier than he intended as he reached down to stroke at their deep crimson petals. “I don’t think anyone has ever bought me flowers before.”

Castiel smiled his small smile at Dean before he turned his eyes to the road. “I did wonder if anyone had. Women tend not to buy them for men, and I wasn’t sure if any of your relationships with men had been explicitly romantic rather than just sexual.”

Dean only gave out a brief nod. Really, not too many of his relationships with women had been that romantic, either. Perhaps two, he thought. But this was, he found, surprisingly nice. His chest glowed warmly; he felt strangely spoiled by the gesture.

“Do you like them?” Castiel asked quietly, his eyes only flicking over to check on Dean before they turned back toward the road.

“Yeah,” Dean admitted, a goofy grin breaking out across his face. “I really do, actually. It kinda…I dunno. It feels luxurious and special, I guess.”

Castiel reached across the bench seat to grasp at Dean’s hand, bringing his knuckles up to press a kiss to them. “Then I’ll send you flowers every week, if it makes you feel like that.”

Dean floated on the buzz that Castiel’s adoring look caused in his body as they drove along. He gave the Social Security Office a small smile as they went past it, thinking how much things had changed since the last time they were in this area. When he pulled his attention back within the car, he realized that Castiel was looking at it too, and squeezed his fingers.

“I’m real glad you’re here,” Dean said simply.

“Me too,” Castiel agreed warmly, turning into the small parking lot beside Sam’s office. Free parking won out over being slightly closer to the restaurant. 

The evening air was fresh rather than cold, and with a couple of hours to go before the sun would set, it was a nice idea to walk the couple of streets from the Impala to the spot they had chosen for dinner.

Once Baby was firmly locked, Dean moved around the front of the car, smoothing out his dark gray slacks, and offered his hand out toward Castiel.

For the briefest moment, Castiel looked at Dean uncertainly. It was only a second, but it was clear to Dean—a hesitance, a tiny fear that had to be quelled before linking their fingers together.

“Not quite used to this, huh?” Dean commented gently.

Castiel tilted his head in question.

Dean raised their joined hands. “Little public displays of affection.”

“Ahh,” Castiel nodded, agreeing. “Yes, you’re right. It would have been a terrible idea back in Russia, to walk along and hold your hand. To be able to do so now is…wonderful, really. Very freeing. Sometimes it just takes me a moment to remember that I can—to remember not to be afraid.”

Dean made a regretful clicking noise against the roof of his mouth, grimacing just a fraction “Well, honestly, I’m not suggesting we should make out in doorways here, either. There’s always at least one under-evolved asshole. But it’s a lot safer than you’re used to, I’m sure.”

 _On the Hill_ was a cozy (though slightly classier than _Olive Garden_ ) Italian restaurant that Dean had only eaten at once or twice before. The building on Indiana Street was made up of huge blocks of stone, their pale color almost golden in the evening light. Dean and Castiel approached it, still hand in hand, and paused outside the door, neatening each other’s collars with affectionate smiles.

“I booked us a nice quiet table at the back,” Castiel said as they progressed inside. “And made sure they had your favorite bourbon, as I’m driving.”

Dean couldn’t help a demonstrative chuckle. “For a guy who was too nervous to date me, you’re pretty smooth when you get going.”

The low spotlights in the restaurant caught Castiel’s eyes as they entered, causing glittering reflections like the whites of cresting waves in the dark, oceanic blue of his irises. Dean found himself staring while Castiel responded, laughing. “I was being an idiot. I am very proud to have the privilege of taking you on a date, _lyubimaj moyo._ ”

At the sugary, yet earnest, Russian phrase, Dean dropped his eyes and raised his hand to adjust his tie. “Stop it,” he grumbled. “You’re going to make me blush in public with all your sappy shit.”

Leaning in just enough for his lips to graze Dean’s ear lobe, his back to the rest of the restaurant while they waited to be seated, Castiel rasped lowly, “That’s not all I can make you do in public, moj mal’chik.”

Dean sighed as his dick immediately woke up and reminded him exactly what kind of man he was dating. “I hate you,” he said, soft and unconvincing.

“You love me,” Castiel threw back, equally soft, and full of wonder.

Their waiter cleared his throat, appearing like a specter at their sides. “Sirs?”

“Uh,” Dean barked eloquently. “Yup. That—that’s us. Food. We’re here for food.”

Castiel rolled his eyes so hard he rocked on the balls of his feet.

The interior of the restaurant, Dean remembered as their incredibly tall, mustachioed waiter led them through it, was all lined with the same golden stone as the outside of the building. Small, romantic tables with deep blue tablecloths and white chairs were dotted around discreetly, and soft piano music played overhead. It was small and cozy, perfect for a first date.

Their table was indeed tucked away into a quiet corner, as requested. The waiter left them with menus and disappeared to get their drinks, so Dean turned back to Castiel.

“See, this is a great place for a first date. Low pressure, just you and me.”

“Just you and me,” Castiel repeated in agreement, nodding. “How it should always be.”

“Ahh, yes,” Dean said with a tiny grin. “I do remember you stating very firmly that you were not a sharer.”

Castiel laughed. “Indeed. Not at all. People can look all they wish, showing you off in every way will be delightful. But no touching. I have a low tolerance for people not keeping their hands to themselves.”

From where he was sitting next to Castiel with the corner of the table between them Dean reached across beneath the tablecloth and squeezed Castiel’s knee. “Lucky you’re so good lookin’, huh,” he quipped. “Nobody is going to be able to get my attention with you around, tall, dark and handsome.”

To Dean’s delight, the rare blush that he was so fond of built up around Castiel’s throat. “Oh, _tishe_ ,” he grumbled, smiling quietly as he told Dean to hush. When he looked back to Dean, Castiel shot him one of his big, happy smiles, and Dean melted down into his seat a little, like an embarrassingly boner-shaped ice pop left to bask in Castiel’s heat.

God, Castiel was beautiful when he smiled. The tiny, fleeting smile that most people got was gorgeous enough, but the wider, adoring looks he saved just for Dean… _Ugh, this dude makes me sappy,_ Dean thought slightly grumpily.

Dean shook his head and chuckled, before letting go of Castiel’s knee so that he could reach across to pick up his menu. He knocked Castiel’s foot under the table, smiling affectionately. “What are you ordering?” he asked, determined to survive the rest of the meal without an awkward under-table semi.

His determination was somewhat fruitless, as sitting with Castiel under the soft lighting, relaxed and comfortable, kept his whole body simmering a low level of arousal throughout the entire meal. The way that Castiel looked at him while they chatted, like Dean was the most interesting thing in the world, did little to lower the dial, and then watching Castiel moan around his steak made the whole effort a lost cause. Surreptitious under-table chubby it was.

Castiel watched Dean with dark eyes every time he shifted slightly in his seat, but he said or did nothing untoward until their cheesecake arrived. Cheesecake was almost pie, Castiel said at Dean’s disappointment that they didn’t have his favorite dessert. By the end of his first bite of the delicious, creamy confection, he had to agree. Secretly, he still thought that his cheesecakes were better…but that only pleased him even more.

All thoughts of confectionary competitiveness fled Dean’s mind when Castiel leaned back in his seat and pulled a folded piece of paper from the interior pocket of his jacket, along with one of the many fine ink pens that usually graced his desk.

Dean raised his brow, watching Castiel unfold the white, printed sheets. “Those better not be divorce papers, hubby,” he joked.

With another one of his signature eyerolls, Castiel placed the papers down on the tablecloth between them, in the corner. “If they had been divorce papers,” he replied dryly, “I probably wouldn’t have wasted money on such a nice dinner.”

“Good to know.” Dean chuckled, giving Castiel a questioning look as he reached out toward the bundle. At Castiel’s nod, Dean slid them toward himself and unfolded them, looking them over.

He looked back up at Castiel, his lips parted. Castiel was coolly uncapping his fountain pen.

 _That fucker_.

“C. Novak and D. Winchester,” the top of the first page said in neatly typed text, clearly personalized and printed from somewhere. Below their names, a long list covered several pages.

Dean swallowed harshly. It was a kink list, no doubt about it—a long list of every interest and fetish that Dean had ever heard of or tried, and plenty (he could already tell) that he had not. “Here? Now?” he croaked out.

Castiel gave one of his tiny, mischievous smiles. “Why not? We’re both here, we have nowhere else to be, it’s a lovely evening. And we have plenty of time to head home and try something new, later,” he added coyly.

Dean shifted, anxious, but somehow excited. “You want to talk about it here. Go through a whole list of, of—” Dean leaned forward slightly, hissing out a soft whisper. “— _kinks_ , right here?”

Castiel’s smile was slightly wolfish. “Not if you’re too uncomfortable to do so, of course. But it does make it more fun.”

It was Dean’s turn to roll his eyes, then. “Fine. But if we get kicked out of the place that does the best alfredo in town, I get to pick the first thing we try from this list.”

With a slow smile, Castiel handed Dean the pen. “Deal,” he said. Before they began, Castiel signaled for their waiter to bring Dean another whiskey and himself a black coffee. Once they were settled, Castiel reached across to pick his fork back up, digging in to take a tiny, testing taste of his cheesecake. “Mmm,” he said contentedly. “Very good. But not as good as yours.”

Dean would be lying if he didn’t admit to his heart fluttering just a bit at that.

“You may begin,” Castiel said then, gesturing to the paper with his fork. “Read them out, one by one, so that we can both rate them—the system is simple: Yes, No, Maybe. The yes and no are self-explanatory, I think. Maybes are for something we will simply try and see, as either we’ve not done it and we’re unsure if we’re into it, or maybe we have but we’d be interested in trying again with each other.”

Settling the heavy fountain pen into his hand, Dean nodded along. Alright. This wasn’t his first rodeo at this—no problem. It was the first time he’d done it over dinner in public, or in quite this depth, but he was fairly sure Castiel had at least a little bit of an unexplored exhibitionist streak in him somewhere, so he shouldn’t have been so surprised.

Dean cleared his throat, surreptitiously flicking his eyes around their side of the restaurant to check for nearby waiters before he began. All clear. “Okay. Section One,” he began. “General Sexual Activity.”

Castiel angled himself just a little so that he was facing Dean more fully and picked up his coffee with a small smile. “Go ahead.”

“Fellatio,” Dean said. “Easy yes.”

“Agreed,” Castiel replied, blowing air softly across the top of his cup. “An easy yes.”

“Swallowing semen,” Dean read next, his voice low. “Yes.”

“Yes.” Castiel nodded.

“Coming on partner, semen contact.” Dean looked up at Castiel and smirked, raising an eyebrow.

Castiel grinned innocently around the rim of his coffee cup. Dean went ahead and marked “Yes” for them both…then underlined it on Castiel’s side, just for good measure.

They moved steadily on through hand jobs, anal sex, rimming, vibrators used on a partner, and butt plugs. Double penetration (oral and anal) and Double penetration (both anal) were instant yeses for Dean—nothing to be embarrassed about there, Castiel was well aware of how much Dean loved to be stretched out. Fisting was a slightly shyer yes on Dean’s part, but Castiel simply squeezed his knee under the table and told him to go ahead and check it off.

“Outdoor sex” caused a momentary pause, as they stopped to define parameters. The threat of being caught, they both said, was a whole other thing to actually being caught, so there was a cautious maybe from them both—until Dean asked whether “outdoor” included “in the car”.

“Really?” Castiel asked. “In Baby? I’m surprised you’d risk the mess. Though, I should have known…that car practically gives you a boner just by itself.”

Dean flushed a little. “She’s spacious. And a lady, I’ll have you know.”

“Then I shall endeavor to keep her leather clean when I fuck you into the bench seat.”

Shifting slightly in his chair, Dean let out a low, breathy exhale, the idea of Castiel pounding into him within the steamed-up Impala making the chub in the front of Dean’s pants much less likely to depart.

Castiel grinned and circled his fingers forward in front of his coffee cup, indicating Dean should go on.

“Section two, bondage and suspension,” Dean read aloud, darting his eyes around once more to check their poor waiter wasn’t about to learn more about his customers than he ever, ever needed to know.

Blindfolds, immobilization, leather restraints, ropes, and cuffs were all easy yesses for them both. Dean said maybe to full head hoods; he’d never tried one. Castiel said no, so they moved on. Japanese bondage was a resounding yes; Dean extended that to a maybe for suspension, another thing he’d never tried but liked the idea of. That one was a solid yes for Castiel.

The next section, to Castiel’s leering delight, was impact and percussion play.

Dean was sweating, and he paused to rub his palms on his pants, sliding his hands across his thighs. Once he returned his arms above the table, Castiel reached across to entwine their fingers, squeezing at Dean’s hands as he leaned over to press his lips to Dean’s cheek.

“Dean, don’t be nervous. Speak your truth, and even if I say no to something, or you do, there’s no judgement here, _lyubimaj moyo_. It’s just something we’re not into, nothing more.”

Dean huffed air out between his lips noisily, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Some things are just…I dunno, strangely nerve-wracking to say out loud. When you’re domming me, it’s easy. But somehow outside of that…it’s dumb.”

Castiel shook his head gently. “Not at all. Would you like me to help you be more at ease, _moj mal’chik_?”

“No.” Dean smiled gratefully as he shook his head. “I can do it, you don’t have to help. I want to do it.”

“Okay,” Castiel agreed, kissing Dean’s cheek once more before he settled back into his chair with his coffee. “Proceed.”

Dean nodded firmly. He could totally do this. “Spanking—obvious yes.”

“Of course.”

“Flogging…yes.”

Castiel nodded his assent, and they moved on through the list of paddles, whips, canes, and straps. Hair pulling was a yes, but Castiel drew the line at face slapping. Dean wasn’t particularly put out by that, so they moved right along.

“You can skip the humiliation section,” Castiel said, nearly at the bottom of his coffee. “I just don’t think it’s a good fit for you, sweet boy,” he rasped quietly, his dark eyes resting hungrily on Dean while Dean shifted and flushed in his seat, flustered.

“It doesn’t…bother you?” Dean asked the tablecloth carefully. “You don’t want—I mean, a lot of Doms, they—”

“Dean,” Castiel interrupted softly, sliding over in his seat so that their thighs pressed together under the table. With no regard to anyone but Dean, Castiel reached across, cupping Dean’s face and directing his attention upward, until their eyes met. “Some subs, they do want to be humiliated. They do want pain. That feels good to them, and it can be incredibly erotic, if they enjoy it. But that’s the key—myself, I don’t want to punish anyone, Dean. I want to provide the things that parts of them love, that make them fly. It’s a powerful feeling, to be in control of someone’s pleasure.”

Dean nodded in Castiel’s hands, understanding.

“I don’t want to do it if what I’m providing is negative. If you wanted me to hurt you, to deny you, to objectify you…then I would do those things. It is your reaction, though, that is pleasing and arousing, not the act itself. So why would I want to do anything that would not get a positive reaction from you, hmm?”

Moistening his lips, Dean gave Castiel a little smile as he admitted, “I just don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Oh, _moj mal’chik_ ,” Castiel breathed out, pressing his lips to Dean’s forehead, “you could never do that.”

Dean flushed, his eyes falling shut momentarily. Sure, a stinging ass, throbbing nipples, and rope burn were signs of a fantastic evening, in Dean’s book. But nothing would ever make him feel as good as this—Castiel’s genuine prase.

Feeling Castiel’s thumb trail across his flushing cheek, Dean melted a little further. He heard the unaffected pleasure in Castiel’s voice as he said, “There…see how you glow from the inside when I get it right?”

The clank of a plate from the other side of the half-empty restaurant snapped Dean’s head up, and he flushed even more as where they were sitting hit him full force. He could feel the heat in his cheeks that told him he was blushing red as he glared half-heartedly at Castiel.

“You did that on purpose,” he said, shaking off the fuzzy, happy feeling beginning to creep around his mind’s edges. This was so not the place for that; it was so easy for him to slip into that subby, content space with Castiel these days. It felt like where he belonged.

“Did what?” Castiel asked with a shit-eating grin. He laughed softly, before using his hand at Dean’s jaw to pull him a little closer, kissing him deeply across the edge of the table.

Dean wanted to plunge his tongue into Castiel’s mouth, climb into his lap and remind him what a perfect fit they were…but their waiter arrived at the edge of the table, offering more coffee and whiskey, so Dean pulled back, and Castiel reluctantly put a little space between them.

Their waiter just gave them a warm grin and went to fetch their refills.

“Do you think we can do the last two sections without getting into trouble?” Castiel asked, giving Dean a small wink.

Dean huffed in a breath and picked up his whiskey glass. Sucking the melting ice from the bottom of it into his mouth, he focused on the cold, crunchy sensation and nodded. “Yup,” he said around the cracking cubes. “I got this.”

Looking down at the list, sensation play and role play were their last two sections.

“Excellent,” Castiel said. Far from innocent, he placed his elbows on the table, linking his hands together as he nodded, eyes fixed on Dean. “Then go ahead. I’m sure you want to tell me very clearly what you’d like me to do to you, yes?”

The low rumble of his voice went straight to Dean’s groin, as if the ice cube hadn’t even happened.

Sighing affectionately, Dean picked the pen back up. “Fine. Let’s start with scratching, biting, and tickling…”

***

Somehow, Dean had survived dinner. He still had no idea how, even as he and Castiel strolled through the walkways of Lawrence park, hand-in-hand. The sun was almost down, the trees highlighted in faded red and pink, and the water in the ornamental ponds gleamed with glittering yellows and oranges that brought to mind fireworks and bonfires and sparklers fading out in the breeze. The air was warm, spring sprung and clinging on, whispering of summer to come. It was a gorgeous evening.

“We’ve got quite the list of sexy activities to try,” Dean said as they strolled along the tarmac path beside the water.

And they had. From nipple clamps requested by Dean to inverted suspension asked for by Castiel, they had all kinds of scenarios to play around with in the future.

The nebulous thought of in the future made Dean’s breath catch.

“Not that there’s any hurry,” he added softly, knowing his words would carry in the quiet air anyway.

Castiel’s smile back was blinding and gummy. “Indeed. We have all the time we want. I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean squeezed Castiel’s hand firmly in content acknowledgement. “Same. I was kinda surprised, though.”

Castiel lofted a dark eyebrow, wrinkling his forehead in the sunset light, shadows shifting across his face as he turned to look at Dean while they walked. “About?”

“I sorta expected some more specific fetishes or requests from you, honestly,” Dean admitted, grinning. “Always had you pegged as the pretty kinky sort.”

The low chuckle that Castiel let out was as warm as the evening breeze. “Agreeing to look into some hooks so we can suspend you, and to focus on some more intense anal training aren’t enough for you?”

“Oh, they are _great_ for me,” Dean responded instantly, returning his boyfriend’s grin. “But that’s just it, they’re for me.”

“I’ll enjoy them very much, I assure you,” Castiel argued.

“Not saying you won’t,” Dean said. “But isn’t there anything that you want for you?”

There was the tiniest hesitation before Castiel shrugged, a “no” clearly on his lips—and Dean leaped upon it immediately.

“There is something!”

Castiel dropped his eyes to the grass beside them, looking deep, dark emerald in the last of the setting sun. “It’s not—I doubt you’d get anything out of it,” he began.

“That’s not the point,” Dean cajoled, coming to a halt where a low bridge crossed the pond that they were next to. Leading Castiel up over it, he knocked his elbow gently into the side of the black suit jacket Castiel had worn, forgoing his trench coat. “You’re not shy, so what’s up?”

“It probably sounds a little strange,” Castiel confessed.

Dean turned, looking Castiel straight in the eyes, his expression held serious. “Yeah, because the things you do for me are so average,” he teased. “Everyone wants to be spanked in women’s underwear. It’s standard first-date fare.”

At that, he got a laugh from Castiel, and the Russian shook his head affectionately before he responded, after a long, deep breath, “Graphoerotica.”

Dean was sure that his face was as blank as his mind.

“It’s a very particular fetish for writing on bodies,” Castiel began more slowly, sounding a little nervous but his words strong and rumbling, as always. “Taking ink and penning letters and words onto your sexual partner’s skin. It can be used to punish subs or slaves, or to show ownership—but it can also just be an erotic act.”

“Huh,” said Dean. Alright, Castiel had him there, he hadn’t heard of that one before.

On the bridge, the sun dipping down behind them, Castiel reached across to turn Dean’s hand palm upward, one finger slowly tracing across the creases of skin in the curve of it.

“With you…I’d love to write words of praise into your skin, join your freckles with ink, describe exactly what I’d like to do to your body, on your body itself. Write my name across every part of you… use words to make your form an extension of my thoughts.”

Dean’s mouth was dry. “Well,” he said, shifting his weight from foot to foot as his dick perked up just to make doubly sure Dean understood how sexy that sounded, “that sounds pretty hot, when you put it like that.”

“Really?” Castiel asked skeptically.

Grinning, Dean closed his hand, catching Castiel’s trailing finger in his. “I would totally do that just for you, Cas. I’d do anything for you. But that…” He paused for a moment to chuckle and catch Castiel’s eyes, to push his words home. “Honestly, that sounds like the perfect kink for you. It makes absolute sense for who you are. And I would love to try it with you, some day.”

From the gummy smile and the fluttering kisses, Dean guessed that Castiel was pleased with his response.

They made their way across to the other side of the bridge, beginning to loop their walk around the large park so that they could head back in the direction of the small graveled lot where they’d left Baby.

The soft breeze was starting to grow slightly chill, but Dean wasn’t complaining. His hand, held in Castiel’s, was warm, his belly was happily full of steak alfredo and cheesecake and whiskey, and—he cringed at himself a little for being so sappy even as he thought it—his heart was pretty full and warm, too.

“It’s really nice out here,” Dean commented as they left the path to wander across the grass, bypassing the children’s play areas in favor of a tall grove of old oak trees, often favored by photographers of the town for weddings and senior portraits.

“It’s beautiful,” Castiel agreed, his response low.

Dean turned, catching Castiel’s eyes resting on the side of his face, rather than the trees. “You’re a dork,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“So be it,” Castiel said loftily. “It doesn’t change that you’re the most handsome thing in the park to look at.”

“Stop it,” Dean grumbled quietly. It was so easy to grin back at compliments when he felt like people wanted something from him. He’d been told he was good looking more times than he could count (or “pretty”, more often, when he was younger) and usually it meant people had a space in their bed for the night, or they were hoping for things Dean had no interest in giving.

But Castiel was so fucking sincere, and it killed him.

“Stop it?” Castiel questioned, his voice low and syrupy as he tugged on Dean’s hand, halting their steps and pulling him back towards his chest. He raised an eyebrow. “Really, hmm?”

Dean swallowed, his eyes flickering down before he managed to look back up. “Thank you,” he managed after a moment, knowing that was what Castiel wanted; him to acknowledge his own worth.

“Hmm,” said Castiel thoughtfully, his hand sliding up to Dean’s waist. “No, I don’t think that’s good enough.”

Dean blinked hard, his lips falling open involuntarily. For a moment, his chest buzzed with panic, thinking that he’d truly misstepped, that Castiel was going to—

“I will have to take you back home and convince you,” Castiel continued, smiling evenly. “I must do my job, and make sure you know exactly how I see you.”

“Show me?” Dean asked hopefully.

Castiel’s hands slipped from Dean’s waist around to his back, pulling him in as his fingers slid lower, ghosting across the swell of Dean’s ass cheek before giving it a subtle squeeze. His lips moved forward and settled under Dean’s jaw with an appreciative little noise before he said, “Well, you’ve been so good, it would be a shame not to end our first date how we plan to continue, hmm?”

Dean linked his fingers tightly with Castiel’s, and shamelessly tugged him the direction of the small parking area. Their walk back to the Impala suddenly became a lot swifter, their bodies brushing often across the space between them, coy smiles and looks exchanged out of the corner of their eyes. The sun was down by then and the breeze was picking up, blowing the grass around their feet as they cut across it to where Baby waited.

Within the Impala, the buzzing tension between them seemed to fill the space exponentially, until they were breathing it. Dean settled automatically behind the steering wheel, though he didn’t feel particularly inclined to actually drive once Castiel slid into the passenger seat. 

“So,” Castiel began, “how do you think our first date went?”

Turning on the heat in the dark car, Dean retucked his shirt sleeves behind his elbows and leaned closer to Castiel on the bench seat, so he could cup his jaw in his hand. Running a thumb along Castiel’s stubble affectionately, Dean nodded as he said, “Just as I predicted...it was perfect. Because it was us.”

“Perfect?” Castiel teased, angling his body so he could pull Dean in closer, sliding his arms around Dean’s waist. “Nothing at all that could have made it better?”

“I can think of one or two things that might improve it even more,” Dean said, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to Castiel’s lips.

“Then you should take us straight home, Dean,” Castiel said patiently, grinning.

Pulling himself reluctantly away from Castiel, Dean swiftly drove them directly home, convinced that he’d not only been on the best first date of his life, but also the _last_ first date of his life.


	3. Part Three

Castiel pulled his keys out of his pocket and opened the front door for Dean, who had followed him up the short path to the front door from Baby, carrying his flowers. Looking down at the blooms again, Dean smiled fondly.

“I had a great time tonight, Cas,” Dean said, stopping him in the doorway.

“It was a wonderful evening,” Castiel agreed, reaching forward to Dean’s chest and softly plucking the silky fabric of Dean’s shirt between his forefinger and thumb, so that he could tug him gently forward. “Thank you.”

Dean leaned in, nuzzling his nose against Castiel’s affectionately. “We should keep it up. Even when we get busy and we get really settled into our lives and just being together...let's still make time.” 

Castiel tangled his fingers in the hair at the back of Dean’s neck and chastely pressed their lips together before replying, “I agree. Let’s always date, whenever we can. Especially in a few months when things start to get busy with publication for me, I don’t ever want you to feel neglected.”

Dean would have protested that  _ neglected _ was definitely the last thing he could ever picture Castiel making him feel, but the Russian drew him forward into a lazy, longing, languid kiss that shoved the thoughts from his mind. They stood on the porch in the dim light from the hall bulb they’d left illuminated within the house, and kissed for long minutes, soft and romantic. 

“The best dates should always end with a kiss,” Castiel eventually murmured, grinning against Dean’s lips.

“Well I love kissing you,” Dean said, rolling his forehead against Castiel’s with a tiny grin, “but I think we already decided that’s not the end.”

Mischief and want and love illuminated Castiel’s eyes in the yellowish light, making them look the dark color of deep, unknown oceans. “You’re right, we did,” he agreed.

Pushing open the door, they took up just a little too much space in the tiny hallway as they jostled, shoulder-to-shoulder, taking off their shoes. Dean managed to get his boots off first, and he put them neatly onto the rack near the door, just as Castiel liked, before starting up the stairs and calling over his shoulder, “I’m just going to head to the bathroom and freshen up. Meet you in the bedroom?”

Castiel called an affirmative back to him as Dean let himself into the townhouse’s small bathroom. He took a few minutes to quickly strip off his clothes and wash up, making sure he was squeaky clean in all of the important places. He heard Castiel rattling around downstairs, prepping the coffee maker for the morning and tidying up the kitchen, a nightly job that he insisted on taking as Dean did pretty much all of the cooking.

That gave Dean a few minutes to prepare the little plan that was slowly forming in his mind. Grabbing his dead guy robe from the back of the bathroom door, he pulled it on over his freshly clean, naked body and quickly gathered up his clothes from the floor.

Dashing over to the bedroom—once Dean’s, now theirs—he dumped his date clothes in the hamper and darted over to the nightstand drawer where he kept his loveliest undergarments; pretty lace pieces and soft silk with frills, garters and g-strings and stockings and an ever expanding array of pastels, jewel hues, blacks and whites. The drawer was added to much more frequently these days, by both himself and Castiel; enticing little packages often coming back with them from the mall or arriving by mail.

Dean picked out a new pair of panties that Castiel hadn’t seen him in yet, and quickly slipped them up his legs, tucking himself into the soft pink lace. He positioned them carefully, making sure that the tiny bow at the back sat right above his ass crack, smirking to himself silently. Tightening his robe, he hastily moved next door to the unfinished office.

As he shut the office door behind himself, Dean heard Castiel coming up the stairs and heading into their bedroom. Not wanting to keep him waiting, Dean swiftly snuck back out and headed down to the living room. They hadn’t yet completed converting Castiel’s old room into an office—because Dean insisted on everything being perfect for him—so for now, he still spent much of his time working downstairs, and Dean knew that was where most of Castiel’s writing supplies currently were.

Dean rifled through the desk, picking out a couple of Castiel’s fountain pens with different colored inks, not sure exactly what his desires would entail. He wanted to give Castiel options. Grinning to himself, Dean opened his robe and, with a little finagling, managed to tuck the pens into the elastic of his panties so that they wouldn’t fall out.

Done, he headed back up the stairs to go and surprise his boyfriend.

The bedroom door was open, and Dean could see Castiel perched on the side of the bed, sitting on the mattress while he looked down at his phone, typing something. Dean waited in the doorway, smiling to himself as he watched Castiel’s thumbs fly across the little touch keyboard, writing out something longer than any text message he’d ever seen. Castiel’s face was intense, thoughtful, his eyes lit up in the way they often did when his mind was in another world entirely.

Dean cleared his throat softly.

Castiel blinked, looking up. Seeing Dean, he gave a little smile and dropped his phone on the nightstand. “Sorry,” he said guiltily. “I just had an idea I had to get down before it fled from my brain entirely.”

Chuckling, Dean moved into the room. “I figured. I’ve lived with you for over eight months, I know that face by now.”

Castiel smiled fondly up at Dean as he walked over to stand between Castiel’s legs. “I don’t want you to ever feel like I’m ignoring you though, Dean.”

Dean bent forward, giving the top of Castiel’s head an affectionate kiss as he hooked one finger into his tie. Castiel’s hair smelled of fresh, lemony shampoo. “Nah, I don’t. I like watching you write, or come up with ideas, or any of it,” Dean said. “It’s kinda cool to watch your process, and I like seeing you happy.”

“Sure, I’m happy when it goes  _ well _ ,” Castiel replied, laughing gently as Dean pulled off his tie. He placed his palms flat on the mattress, leaning back on his arms and letting Dean do it. “I’m less fun to live with when it doesn’t.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of that, too.” Dean grinned down at Castiel, dropping the tie to the floor and reaching for the tiny buttons near his collar.

“You know,” Castiel said, tilting his head back and opening up his neck to Dean’s hands, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Hmm?” Dean worked the small buttons one by one, revealing Castiel’s tanned collarbone.

“You told me when we spoke about it that you didn’t mind that I’d based Michael and Dmitri on us, in my last book,” Castiel said, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

Dean paused in his unbuttoning. “Yeah?”

“What if I was to write a sequel?”

“Oh,” Dean said, relieved, though he wasn’t quite sure where he thought Castiel had been going with that anyway. He resumed his removal of Castiel’s white shirt. “Sure. You’re not using our names or anything and the setting is different, I’m not sure why it would matter.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay with it. You know I’d change if you weren’t.”

“Well, I’m alright with it. Whatever inspires you—” Dean trailed us his fingers slowly across Castiel’s chest, loving the feel of his firm skin, “—you can go right ahead and use, Dmitri.”

Castiel gave a small snort at the old nickname, before reaching forward to grab a handful of Dean’s bath robe, tugging him closer. “Thank you, Dean. Your support for my work is very much appreciated.”

“It’s great work,” Dean said, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s neck as leaned down to press their foreheads together. “And I love you. It’s not hard to support you in your career, Cas. You deserve it.”

They kissed slowly, and as they did Dean slowly untied his dead guy robe. When Castiel pulled back, he let it slip languidly down from his shoulders with a smile.

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel breathed out, his eyes skimming down from Dean’s face to the new lace panties he wore. “They’re beautiful,” he said as a muted afterthought.

Grinning softly, Dean kicked the robe out of the way and swayed his hips, presenting the left one to Castiel.

Eyes widening at the sight, Castiel reached forward to touch his fingers to the lace where it bulged around the ink pens tucked into Dean’s hip when he spotted them. “Dean?”

“It was just a thought,” Dean said, suddenly nervous. “We had a really great first date…why not make it even more special?”

“I—” Castiel swallowed harshly, to Dean’s gratification. “I would have been happy just to make love to you, just enjoy each other…”

“I know, Cas. And we can totally do that. I just thought this would be fun. You put the idea in my head, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it, about how you’d look doing it.”

Castiel wrapped his fingers around the ink pens and gently tugged them from Dean’s waist, placing them almost reverently on the nightstand. Then he reached for Dean’s hips, pulling him in tight as he settled back amongst the pillows, bringing Dean down to the bed with him.

Reaching out one hand to catch himself at the end of his controlled tumble down onto the mattress, Dean grinned down at Castiel. “Was that a ‘yes’?”

Castiel kissed him deeply before responding, his voice already lower and gravellier than it had been only moments before. “ _ Da. _ I could never say no to such a precious gift. Now…will you give me your colors, sweet boy, just in case? I doubt we’ll need them, but as we haven’t planned ahead, it would make me more comfortable.”

“Green means go, red means stop, yellow means ‘hurry up and make that damn light,’” Dean replied cheekily.

“And what does ‘brat” mean?” Castiel asked darkly, raising a brow as he loosened his belt.

Dean swallowed harshly. “No idea, Sir,” he said quickly, “none of those around here. I’ll do them properly now, I promise.”

Castiel nodded his go-ahead and Dean began to recite. Sliding his feet off the bed and briefly standing up, Castiel removed his suit pants and shoes, leaving just his boxer-briefs on by the time Dean was done.

“Much better,” Castiel purred as he knelt back onto the mattress. “Lay back against the pillows for me, boy.”

Dean complied, pulling a couple of their pillows up behind him so that he was carefully propped. He smiled at Castiel, enjoying the feeling of his dark, deep blue eyes slowly sliding down Dean’s body. The feel of them gliding over his chest and stomach was almost like a touch, weighty and thrilling. Castiel moved on down, lingering at Dean’s hips and where the pastel pink lace gently hugged his soft cock, before drifting further to take in the light fuzz of his bowed legs.

“Do you like what you see, Sir?” Dean asked after a moment, beginning to squirm under the heavy attention.

Castiel’s answer was soft lips to Dean’s forehead.

Then, to his temple, his ear, his cheekbone. Dean melted into the pillows as they continued, dancing across his cheeks, worshiping his jaw, tasting the shape of his throat and making a prayer out of the shape of his collarbone. When Castiel eventually reached Dean’s sternum, his lips resting upon it, warm and damp, he finally said, “ _ Da, moj mal’chik,  _ I adore what I see. Your body, your mind, all that you are.”

Dean flushed deeply, and he could feel the pinking warmth travelling down his neck and spilling onto his chest, where Castiel kissed at it with an affectionate chuckle.

Castiel carried on, then. He pressed soundless words into Dean’s skin, between his freckles, across his ribs, down the soft line of hair that trailed to the happiest of places, the place that was now beginning to beg for its own words, its own attention. Dean could feel the lace shifting across his cock as his arousal grew, but he didn’t dare reach down to rearrange himself; Castiel had staked a claim, Dean’s body now a canvas for him to write upon.

He wrote his first draft with his tongue.

Puffs of breathy, quiet air were all that passed between them.

When Castiel was transcribing a whole paragraph onto the bump of Dean’s hip with the very tip of his tongue, Dean finally gave in to a low, rumbling moan. “Holy shit,” he breathed out at the end, feeling utterly exposed and  _ adored _ under Castiel’s determined attention.

With his Dom’s slow, singular attention to his body, Dean felt like he was shedding a skin, and what was beneath was new, and fresh, and raw, and  _ better. _

Castiel’s fingers ghosted along the outside of Dean’s thigh while his lips worked up the inside. His breath was hot through the tiny patterns of pink lace that cradled the muscles of his lower abdomen, already straining to contain what it was made to hold. Castiel’s lips dragged damply near his inner ankle, the pads of his fingers caressing further addendums along the crease of Dean’s groin.

Once every inch of Dean’s body had been blessed, Castiel crawled up over him, latching his lips to the side of Dean’s neck. He slotted their bodies together, Dean’s lace pressed against the soft cotton of his boxers, and slowly rocked them together for long minutes while he suckled marks into Dean’s neck and shoulders; harsh, claiming, beautiful kisses that softly bruised.

_ “Ty krasivy.  _ _ U tebya krasivy glaza; u tebya krasivy  _ _ ulybka. _ _ Ya obozhaju tebya _ ,” Castiel murmured into the swell of flesh where Dean’s neck met his shoulder.

Dean’s hands were splayed across Castiel’s muscled back, enjoying the way the fit Russian felt beneath his fingers as he lazily rolled and thrusted, just enjoying the sensation. The simmering arousal in Dean’s body slowly meandered upward, increasing at a leisurely pace that seemed to fit with Castiel’s apparent plans to make this last. Dean understood most of what Castiel was saying; enough to detect the compliments and draw a hazy smile from him, at least.

_ “Ty dostavlyaesh mne radost’”, _ Dean replied softly, simple but honest: You make me happy. And it was true. He couldn’t recall a time in his life when he’d been as happy as he had been with Castiel, even when they were in the midst of making a mess of everything.

Dean was so used to the underlying melody of the Russian’s speech, the sing-song rhythm that carried the words, that somehow using what he knew with Castiel felt special and intimate.

When Castiel finally pulled back far enough to reach for the ink pens on the nightstand, Dean remained on the bed, propped on the pillows, entirely boneless. When Castiel returned to him, he viewed Dean with a soft chuckle.

“Lay down flat for me,  _ moj mal’chik, _ ” Castiel requested. “If you can move at all.”

Dean smiled beatifically up at Castiel as he slid himself down flat, pushing a couple of pillows off the bed in the process. “You melted me,” he complained playfully. “Your tongue turned me into a puddle.”

Castiel grinned gleefully. “Good.”

The first touch of ink came, unexpectedly, to Dean’s temple. He couldn’t see what was written there, only feel the damp touch of the ink as it stuck to his skin. It was sticky and cool, though it dried quickly and left no feeling at all once the word, or symbol, or whatever Castiel had inked settled seamlessly onto his skin.

Dean wasn’t too focused on the feeling of it, though. He kept his attention forward, watching Castiel as he worked, studying the way that his face transformed much like it did when he was transcribing a new idea or writing a particularly satisfying passage in one of his books. The blue of his eyes was dark but sharp, intent on whatever strokes his pen currently made, pouring some kind of feeling into them that Dean could see but not name.

Castiel was quiet, watching his fingers as they lettered tiny dots and whorls of ink across Dean’s skin, naming him, praising him, possessing him in a way that was both very visual and very poetic.

Dean relaxed and let himself sink into the feeling of Castiel’s hands on his body and the scratch of the nib across his skin. Occasionally, Castiel would smile or bite his lip, and Dean wondered what caused those reactions, but he didn’t want to break the charged, quiet air to ask.

Kisses were frequent; deepening as Castiel worked. His pupils were navy with arousal in the light of the bedroom lamp, and his hair was in impressive disarray. Dean reached up to run his fingers through it idly, feeling soft and loose, and Castiel leaned into the touch for a moment before grasping Dean’s wrist and gently returning his arm to the bed.

_ Be good, don’t move.  _ Unspoken, but very loud.

As Castiel moved on down to Dean’s chest, leaving both kisses and ink across his throat on the way, Dean was able to start seeing what Castiel was creating.

Dean’s skin was becoming a canvas of dark blue and emerald green, Cyrillic letters in specific formations working their way through similar swathes of the Latin alphabet. The sentence that was creeping under Dean’s left nipple—that one, he was almost sure, was some other Eastern Slavic language. The solid paragraph that gleamed blue at the base of his ribs was Italian, he guessed, though he couldn’t have known what it said more than any of the others.

Castiel looked up, catching Dean’s eyes for a moment, sharing his stare, before he smiled and dropped his gaze back down, a single line of Russian lettering making its way quickly from Castiel’s pen to Dean’s stomach.

“What did that say?” Dean chanced asking, enchanted by the whole process.

Castiel gave a little chuckle and said,  _ “Samaye prekrasnaye chustva - kagda ty smotrish na nevo i vidish, shto on smotrit na tebya. _ It means, ‘The best feeling is when you look at him and he is already staring’.”

“So, is that what all this is, huh?” Dean asked, oddly breathless. “Sappy quotes and declarations?”

Castiel grinned, his eyes wrinkling at the edges and accentuating their current dark, hooded state. “Some of it. Some is poetry.”

“Oh? Romantic poetry?”

“Some of it,” Castiel repeated, teasing, his grin heating like his eyes. 

Grabbing the inside of Dean’s knees surprisingly roughly, Castiel parted Dean’s legs and dragged him down the bed a few inches, opening up Dean’s hips so that he could get to the insides of his thighs with ease. Castiel’s hot breath danced up Dean’s skin as he continued, “Some of the poetry is about your heart, your soul, my love for you. Some of it is about your muscles, your smile, your cock.”

Dean made a small choking noise as his body decided to suddenly remind him of that low simmer in his abdomen, the eager warmth sitting behind his groin that was just waiting, hoping, desperately wishing he’d pay attention to it again. Trapped behind lace, half-hard, Dean didn’t dare touch without Castiel’s permission.

“This one,” Castiel continued as his pen worked deep green and blue in turns across the inside of Dean’s thigh, tickling lightly, “is not at all romantic. Though I suppose that depends on your definition…”

Castiel’s hand caressed upward over the pretty pink panties, which were growing tighter the closer Castiel’s mouth and pens got to them. With wet, open kisses, Castiel greeted Dean’s lace covered cock. He pressed his tongue to the underside of his Dean’s head, licking at the precome that dampened the lace until the fabric was soaked, and Dean moaned past a bitten lip. Castiel squeezed then, encouraging Dean’s hardness as he slipped the underwear down to his ankles.

Dean let out a low groan as his cock sprang free, red and needy already.

“Here,” Castiel murmured against the base of Dean’s cock, reaching for Dean’s hand and leading it to wrap around his now-uncovered, desperate dick. “Go ahead, sweet boy.”

“Oh, fuck,” Dean breathed out gratefully, “thank you, Sir. Thank you.”

As Dean’s clenched fist ascended slowly up the length of his cock, Castiel’s hand spread across the ink decorating his inner thigh. Dried and cool, the ink withstood his fingers as he manhandled Dean’s thighs further apart, kissing his way across the words.

“What—what is it?” Dean managed to get out, twisting his head to peer down at the words travelling over his skin. “Will you tell me, Sir?”

Dean felt Castiel’s grin against his flesh, wolfish even if his mouth was hidden. “It’s a poem, a famous one, by Allen Ginsberg.”

“It’s about dicks, isn’t it?”

“Close,” Castiel said innocently, pausing to trail his tongue along Dean’s taint. “It’s called ‘Please, Master.’”

Of fucking course it was.

Dean’s thoughts couldn’t stay on Beat Generation poets for long, not as Castiel’s savagely talented tongue drifted betwixt his cheeks, enchanting and word-stealing and oh so  _ wet.  _ He shuddered against the bedsheets, whining and pressing his head back into the pillows.

The noises only seemed to spur Castiel on, his fingers pushing into the flesh of Dean’s legs. As Dean’s body heated and Castiel’s hands warmed against him, ink began to smudge here and there, leaving bluey-green fingerprints where Castiel’s grip shifted.

“Fuck,” Dean hissed out. He kept tugging at his cock, faster by then, his thumb gathering drops of precome from his head, spreading them down across his smooth glans. He almost felt high from the sensation of Castiel’s tongue beginning to spear and twist within him—Castiel rimmed like a porn star, shameless and eager and loud, his sloppy mouth sucking seals around Dean’s rim as he massaged the quivering walls within. The roughness of Castiel’s stubble snagging at the soft flesh surrounding his hole was the only thing that kept Dean tethered to the bed, his chest and limbs already flying and tingling and hot. “So good, Sir, so fucking good! Your mouth feels amazing, I love the burn, I love— _ fuck!” _

Dean cussed out even more loudly at the blunt intrusion of both of Castiel’s thumbs. With his fingers curling across the globes of Dean’s ass, Castiel shuffled down until Dean’s thighs were thrown over his shoulders, his own knees off the mattress and onto the floor as he pulled Dean sharply down the bed to the edge, fucking him onto his fingers and tongue.

Castiel hummed pleasure into Dean’s burning asshole, and Dean lost track of the words spilling from his mouth. Working at his ass with a kneading, stretching motion, Castiel pulled back just enough to suck in air. Biting at Dean’s thigh, he asked breathlessly, “Do you want me to go harder, boy? Stretch you out more, pull you apart more on my fingers and tongue…I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Tell me your color.”

Dean babbled, but managed, “Green!”

Castiel hooked his thumbs in further, thrusting his tongue between them in a spear, before flattening it out within, adding just a little more warm, wet stretch.

“Yes!” was all that Dean could yell, over and over, as Castiel ate his ass and stretched him out wide, massaging around his hole as he tugged it wider, wider.

“Oh, yes,” Castiel gasped admiringly on his next trip up for air. “Look at you, gaping for me so beautifully.”

Tears prickled at Dean’s eyes—the burn was sharp, the pain low but commanding as it made his whole ass tingle. Castiel knew how much he loved this, craved it even—his Dom was so good to him, so generous. Cas. Castiel was so good to him, always.

“Please,” Dean huffed out desperately. “So close!”

“That’s it,” Castiel said as he sank back down. His hands returned to Dean’s sweating thighs, smearing the swiftly blending ink colors all over his palms as it bled from Dean’s skin. “Come on my tongue,  _ moj mal’chik,” _ he commanded softly, before slipping his lips back down to Dean’s most intimate places.

Dean brayed out into the warm bedroom air as Castiel thrust his thumbs and tongue in unison, then  _ stretched. _

Relentless, Castiel held him open.

Dean came so hard his balls throbbed, tightening sharply under Castiel’s suddenly gentle, massaging fingers. “Oh! Oh,  _ fuck, _ ” Dean hissed again, shuddering.

“There we go, good boy,” Castiel coaxed gently, pressing soothing kisses across the crease of Dean’s groin before he slithered sinuously up the bed, over Dean, looking down at him.

Castiel’s eyes were bright and blown and black and  _ burning. _ Dean could feel the heat and want pouring off of him in waves. He spread his legs wordlessly, pulling Castiel down even as he felt Castiel kicking off his boxers.

Fuzzy and warm from his orgasm, Dean flopped his legs open wide and slid his hands up Castiel’s back, tugging him down for a kiss. Their mouths melded together easily, slow and languid, a counterpoint to the hot, blunt cock that was pressing at Dean’s ass.

“Color,” Castiel gasped between kisses.

“Green,” Dean confirmed. “Fuck me, please, Sir.”

Castiel didn’t need any begging or pleading, sliding into Dean’s open hole in a single smooth thrust. A filthy groan fell from his lips. He grasped Dean’s shoulder with his inky hand, the other firm on the mattress, and pulled back just far enough to get some power behind his snapping hips.

Even though his orgasm was only minutes past, a different sense of pressure began to grow in Dean’s abdomen as Castiel dragged one of the abandoned pillows, shoving it under Dean and angling him just right.

Dean’s breath shuddered in his lungs. He was already stretched and slick, though Castiel’s cock pushed much further than his fingers and tongue could reach, and the motion sent another shockwave of tingling through Dean. Sensitive from having come once already, Dean knew he’d feel this tomorrow…and he loved it. “Fuck-fuck-fuck,” Dean said into the crook of Castiel’s neck. “Feels so good.”

“You feel amazing,” Castiel said in agreement, fucking down into Dean sharp and swift, no waiting or teasing. “So tight when I grind into you deep—” he accented his words with the motion, “—and then gaping around me so hungrily, just waiting for…”

Castiel trailed off, and Dean felt more of Castiel’s weight travel through the arm he had at Dean’s shoulder. The other came off the mattress, reaching down. Castiel stretched awkwardly, but he seemed to care little—his eyes remained firmly on Dean, becoming hazy and impossibly wider as Castiel pushed his thumb in alongside his cock.

Another orgasm hurtled toward Dean as Castiel continued to nail his prostate on every thrust. He was relentless, and Dean could almost watch the Russian’s orgasm building as he pounded forward, jerky and desperate.

Weaker than the first time, Dean saw white fuzz for a moment as his cock spurted across his stomach again. Castiel moaned at the sight, and lost all rhythm. Dean felt Castiel filling him as he twitched above, the warmth of his come oddly soothing. Within himself, Dean could feel Castiel’s cock twitching, and he cried out, oversensitive.

Castiel made to pull back—but Dean clung tightly onto his back, feeling the come begin to slide out around Castiel’s cock, dripping from Dean’s gaping hole and onto Castiel’s hand. He kissed Castiel hard before he slowly relaxed, letting go of Castiel with a long exhale of air.

They lay silently for a minute, breathing erratically, Castiel sprawled atop Dean. Then, carefully, Castiel peeled their sweaty bodies apart and rolled to the side.

Looking down at himself, all Dean could see smudges of green and blue with clear-cut streams trailing through them from the sweat that dripped and dawdled over his muscles. Then, on his shoulder, Castiel had left a very distinct, inky handprint, the blue and green colors perfectly mixed.

Dean liked it; it felt like a claim, like being owned.

But he definitely needed a shower.

“So,” Dean asked the ceiling after a minute, “how was it?”

He felt, more than heard, Castiel chuckling against his side.

“I do believe,” Castiel said, his voice utterly wrecked, deep and rasping, making his accent even more pronounced, “that I’ve found some more inspiration for book two.”

**Author's Note:**

> TRANSLATIONS:
> 
>  **Medlenno** \- Slowly  
>  **Khoroshiy mal'chik** \- Good boy  
>  **Khoroshiy mal'chik** \- Thank you  
>  **Vy khoteli by nagradu** \- Would you like a reward  
>  **Da** \- Yes  
>  **Yesli vy dumayete, ya zasluzhivayu odnogo.** \- If you think I deserve one  
>  **Poyas, Pugovitsa, Zastezhka-molniya, Bryuki, Neezhnee bil’yo** \- Belt, button, zipper, pants, underwear  
>  **Ya khochu, chtoby ty byl vnutri menya** \- I want you to be inside of me  
>  **Oh, tishe** \- Oh, hush  
>  **Ty krasivy. U tebya krasivy glaza; u tebya krasivy ulybka. Ya obozhaju tebya** \- You are beautiful. You have beautiful eyes; you have a beautiful smile. I adore you.  
>  **Ty dostavlyaesh mne radost** \- You make me happy/bring me joy  
>  **Samaye prekrasnaye chustva - kagda ty smotrish na nevo i vidish, shto on smotrit na tebya** \- The best feeling is when you look and he is already staring
> 
> **NOTES:**
> 
> Me: Shall I tell them the title of the book and give them the excerpts for it this time?
> 
> Me: Nahhh...next time ;)
> 
> If you enjoy my words and you have a prompt or idea you'd like written (or even a timestamp to an existing fic, if that's what you want) then now is your time! I'm raising money for charity by participating in [Fandom Trumps Hate](https://fth2020offerings.dreamwidth.org/210288.html) and [Fandom For Australia](https://ffoz-offerings.livejournal.com/23440.html) and bidding is now open for both!
> 
> You can also come and be my friend [over here on tumblr,](https://malmuses.tumblr.com/) if you wish.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, as always.
> 
> \- Mal <3


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